


Mr. Bones' Wild Ride

by stridertrash



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humor, Inappropriate Erections, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 17:18:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8541940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stridertrash/pseuds/stridertrash
Summary: Tumblr prompt on my brodave blog:"Ironic spanking for bad grades gets made weird with unexpected boners."





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm aliiiiiive.  
> Taking brodave prompts over at stridertrash.tumblr.com.
> 
> written in one sitting and unbetaed. nothing explicit.

So, okay, things either got radically out of hand, or perhaps entirely too in-hand. Hands-on. … look, hands got involved, it’s a joke, okay? Goddammit, universe, let you have this, because there’s not a whole lot else to laugh at in this shitshow of a situation.

In fact, it had started as a joke! You’d turned up with a bad report card because honestly who cares about grades? Fig a.: your brother, who – need you be reminded – is a rapping rooftop ninja who you are like, at least 65% sure dropped out of highschool and pawned his GED diploma for an anime sword. Is it even possible to do that? Probably not but that just proves your point.  
…  
Point is.  
You had shown up with a few Ds, maybe an F here. Maybe like, a bunch of Fs. Maybe your teacher was like, blah blah have a parent or guardian sign this blah blah. You had assumed that your Bro would, like, maybe high five you and give you a Big Mac because fuck school amirite?

This is, as may be obvious, not how things played out, as evidenced by the fact that you are currently sitting in the bathroom, back to the door and barricaded in like an optimistic holdout in a zombie apocalypse.

Instead of admiration for your rejection of The System, Man, Bro had threatened to whoop your ass up and down the roof because he was sure as tits not going in for another parent-teacher conference on your behalf. (Okay, so you kind of dug your hole deeper by making a crack about him not being allowed within 100 yards of a school zone. Maybe you should drop out and look into a career as a ditch-digger. You proved your own point, because you also said THAT out loud.)

(Dave Strider: Man of the year. Give yourself a medal.)

“What are you gonna do, dude,” you had said as he failed to be amused by your fantastic wit. Genius is never understood in its time, you had supposed, and had already begun the trek up to the roof for your daily dose of sword to the face. “I mean, come on, unless you’re gonna go all old timey and bend me over your knee or something, let’s get this over with.”

You realize, about thirty seconds too late, that you should never, ever give your brother ideas.

Sometimes he takes them way too well to heart.  
(BUT HE CAN’T LAUGH AT YOUR AWESOME JOKES CAN HE.)

Every day you think you’re starting to get used to your brother, but he still moves too goddamn fast, and before you knew what was going on, there you were, bent over your brother’s knee with a leather-gloved hand pressing down on the back of your neck in case you had any more brilliant ideas.

You had started wriggling pretty much immediately, because, ha ha, funny joke, Bro, you’re a real funnyman, gotta write this one down for the jokebooks.

You held onto that mistaken belief right up until, sure as shit, you got a nice hearty smack across the ass courtesy of your bro. You were thankful – and as it would turn out, not for the last time – that he had at least afforded you the dignity of keeping your pants up, but, seriously, a small blessing because: what the fuck?

Bro, for his part, offered absolutely no explanation or insight or, you know, anything else. Which, typical, he explains himself about as frequently as white girls _can even,_ but still, around the time that you were like– five? Maybe six? Strikes into Mr. Bones’s Wild Ride.  
Well.  
…  
Mr. Bones’ Wild Ride, indeed.

Look. You’re not saying you meant to do it. Such things rarely mean to happen.  
But… you’re a growing boy! I mean, not THAT growing, but, you know, you’re still a teenager, things still happen. Sometimes, when you least expect it, the little gremlin in the back of your mind is like, hey, did you know you’re into this? And then the gremlin and a demon of bad timing make a wish, and nine seconds later, a stork delivers a brand new thing you never knew you kinked on and drops it right down your chimney.

What you’re saying is that your brother was spanking you over his knee and you popped a boner and, yeah, see why you were thankful yet again for the status of your pants?

You’re not sure if Bro only meant to give you seven whoops upside the ass or if he stopped shy of his unknown goal number because, fuck, Bro notices when a single sword is out of place, you can’t expect him not to notice THAT PARTICULAR SWORD THAT IS WAY OUT OF PLACE.  
(The sword is your dick.)

And that’s how we come to now: with your back against the bathroom door, your ass stinging faintly, and your pants full of hard-on. Bro doesn’t seem to be prepared to break the bathroom door down just yet.

You have to deal with two things right now. One of them is what just happened; the other is the erection you’re rocking.

One guess which one you decide to put in the deal-with-never pile, and which one is bumped straight to the front of the queue.


End file.
